Before the Phantoms Fell
by LuvEwan
Summary: A series of vignettes centering around the apprenticeship of Obi-Wan to Qui-Gon Jinn. Angst, drama and humor.
1. A Powerful Light

**Before the Phantoms Fell**

_A Series of Vignettes by _LuvEwan

**O**

This will be an ongoing collection of scenes inspired by the list of plot bunnies offered so generously by **dianethx**, **shanobi **and **Kynstar. **

**OOOOOOOOOOOOO**

**A Powerful Light**

G

(Disclaimer) Nothing belongs to me.

_This first one is a combination of two ideas from the fertile imagination of **dianethx. **You'll have to read to see which ones! _

**O**

_Obi-Wan awaits his Master's return._

The Universe was a massive place, but suddenly, it had dwindled to a patch of powdered grit. As the hours brought a subtle shift and seeping of dusk into the sky, Obi-Wan was becoming increasingly convinced that his boots would ever only set upon that hearth. The others sat, meditated, even slept, but his cognizance was rigid as his spine. The eyes of his body and those of his mind were in desperate focus.

A scrape shorn through the silence, and his hand went to the jagged cave wall. He stood in total stillness, senses straining to locate the source of the sound. But it passed, and his surroundings settled. Beyond the lip of the shelter, the forest was captured in crisp sunset.

And the shadows were spreading.

From every edge and crevice, there was a bleeding of black that, too soon, would bring the eclipse of nighttime. The horizon would flood in a pall, and he wouldn't be able to make out the tall, venerable figure of his teacher, as he ascended the far-off hills. Obi-Wan was young. Very young, as just about everyone he came into contact with relished in reminding him. But his fresh heart was not without scars, and certainly not galvanized against harsher realities. He was worried about Qui-Gon. As the shroud fell further around him, he could feel his core set atremble, and he had to force his fingers not to follow suit. He was young, and if he had not been trained from infancy in the ways of the ancient Order, he would still be held close beneath the wing of his parents.

Yet, their faces were but a muddled blur in his memory. His family came to him in a mosaic: teachers, fellow students, the Knight and crechelings, they all assembled his support. It was their collective countenance that would sustain him in moments of uncertainty. Above them, however, would be his mentor. Qui-Gon Jinn, impulsive, aloof, charismatic, the rogue of the Temple. Rumors and legends followed him like the tail of his cloak—and, like that cloak, his steps would send them flying backward. He was aware of his reputation, but he lived his life in a way that was true to his own heart.

Obi-Wan had learned to see that, and he dismissed the criticism aimed at the man. He could not be his apprentice with any doubt separating them. So he would sometimes stifle his arguments, trusting in his Master's wisdom. Today he had done just that. He had wanted to remain beside Qui-Gon, a place that had become natural to Obi-Wan. They had been traveling with a group of fellow Jedi through the thick forest when a member was injured. Qui-Gon, the eldest of the mission team, dictated that he would aid the fallen Knight while the others continued. Obi-Wan had assumed that he would be staying as well, but that, as his Padawan, it was simply an unspoken thing.

But Qui-Gon's weathered face had been (regretfully?) stoic as he informed the boy, _"Padawan, you are to go with the rest. I'll catch up."_

Obi-Wan's insides had lurched, and protest leapt to his lips, but in the end he merely said, _"Yes, Master."_ And, with a final look back at his teacher, joined the others.

That had been a long while ago. Twilight and slumber were calling. But he was self-appointed sentinel at the door of the cavern, and sleep was the furthest luxury from his mind. His thoughts were with Qui-Gon, his concern centered on the man. As a Jedi-in-training, Obi-Wan had thought himself not as tender as other children. Already in his short time, he had survived terrible assaults and overwhelming adversity.

He was a little started by the strengthening waves of fear roiling inside him. Yes, there were instances when Qui-Gon would solitarily seek out answers during an assignment, but the night would find him returned to his apprentice. Or, at least, Obi-Wan would know just where he was.

As the moon lifted, Obi-Wan had assumed the comlink clipped to his belt would flare with the Master's incoming message. That had not been the case, and Obi-Wan, acknowledging a deeper worry, had tried to contact him.

More than an hour later, there was still no response.

His heart was hammering now, and he found he had to walk, imprinting a short oval into the dirt floor. He had to move or the flurry in his chest would explode. He funneled every thought into his steps, and not the more sinister fates that might have prevented Qui-Gon from answering him.

"Qui-Gon and Gi'Ria are fine, young one." Master Windu assured him. He sat with his legs crossed, back propped by the rugged wall. "The Force would tell us if they were in danger."

Obi-Wan swallowed the boulder rising in his throat. No matter the nature of the man's response, it hurt to hear the cause of his trepidation voiced. He looked again to the fading day, and shook his head. _Maybe I just can't hear it speaking. Maybe I'm not good enough—because I'm so below him. _

"If he's alright, Master Windu, I need to see it for myself." Obi-Wan told him, with the proper measure of respect.

Another hour trudged by, and Obi-Wan stood outside the cave, on the fringes of the darkened forest. The wind teased along his skin, for if that same wind had passed Qui-Gon Jinn, there was no way of knowing. He gazed out, and something crumpled in him. Night ruled, and his Master had yet to arrive. Waiting in the day had been difficult, but there had been hope brandished in the brightness. Now, there was chill and dense shadow, and Obi-Wan found that hope severely weakened.

His musings started to wander to morbidity, and for an awful score of seconds, he entertained what would happen if Qui-Gon didn't return. A void closed in on Obi-Wan then, because he had been nothing when Qui-Gon Jinn had turned him away in the Temple, on Bandomeer…and Melida/Daan. For every abandonment, justified as they might have been, he lost a little of his worth. What would he be without his Master? Would he be banished again to the farming colonies, or would the Jedi finally erase him completely from their ranks?

Obi-Wan stared at the full darkness, and realized that none of it mattered. Without his Master, nothing mattered at all.

His breaths came quicker, and his eyes darted to his boots. His mental vision flashed with recollections of his Master's smile, his walk, the perfect weight of his hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. He thought of what the man meant to him—and begged the Force to allow an exchange, his life for Qui-Gon's. It was illogical, but wished so fervently, that for a moment, Obi-Wan thought it would work.

But time unfolded with the boy standing on the same sullied earth. Inside the cave, everyone save Windu had succumbed to exhaustion.

Obi-Wan sunk his face into his hands. He pressed his eyes shut, and gave himself to the panic. _No. Please. I can't lose him. Please._

/_I'm coming, Padawan._/

He shot his head up with a gasp. "Master?" Bewildered eyes sought the outline of the man through the black. He searched with all the wild passion of his prayers, but there was no change to the night-painted scenery.

Slowly, he sunk to the ground, and accepted that it had been a projection of his frantic heart's wish. He was lost in painful delusion, while his Master was lost in the unforgiving elements.

A seething hate swelled in him. Was this all he was good for, sniveling on the floor? What use was he, a kid huddled in the dark, without anyone?

He crossed his arms over his knees and buried his face. Something had happened to Qui-Gon Jinn, something horrible, but he was unable to sense it.

_/You are foolish to doubt yourself, my Learner. I told you I'm coming./_

Obi-Wan shook his head, covering his head with his hands. _I can't do this. I can't hear his voice. It hurts. It hurts to hear that and think that…I can't lose him I need him…I love him_.

He heard strange things then, endearments spoken in the Master's graceful, deep tone, sentiments that were Obi-Wan's proof of an imposter. His Master was a kind soul, but his emotion toward Obi-Wan was evident. A teacher's regard for his pupil.

That wasn't the limit of Obi-Wan's feelings, and he curled further into himself, wanting not to feel anything. Already, the anguish was destroying him.

"Obi-Wan, you must stop this."

He would have thought it another errant emanation from his own mind, if not for the touch on his shoulder.

Obi-Wan brought his head up with difficulty, indifferent to the tears cooled in the breeze. Through waterfall vision, he saw a man's face—and his mouth quivered. He didn't feel childish, or inept. He only felt relief wash over him. "Master."

Qui-Gon ran his thumbs under the swollen eyes. "Look at the state of you."

Obi-Wan grappled for air. "W-Why didn't you…"

"Our comlinks shorted when we ran into some water." Qui-Gon's face was haggard and weary, but lit powerfully through the shadows. It was the same incandescence unearthing from Obi-Wan's soul. Qui-Gon smiled, resting his hands on the curve of Obi-Wan's cheeks. "Everything was fine, Padawan. We just had to move slow."

Obi-Wan stared at him, nodding. "I…I thought that…"

Qui-Gon reached for him, and enveloped him in steady arms, tucking Obi-Wan's head under his bearded chin. "I know, little one. But I'm here."

Obi-Wan grinned, a sob sputtering out of him, and held tightly to his Master.

**O**

A few minutes after their reunion, they lay in the haven shared by the other Jedi.

The wait had battered Obi-Wan more than he thought, and he was slipping to sleep as soon as his head touched the floor.

"Obi-Wan?"

He pushed his eyelids open, to gaze at Qui-Gon with renewed reverence. "Yes, Master?" It was a gift to be able to speak those familiar words.

"Why didn't you answer when I called to you?"

Obi-Wan sat up on his elbows. "What do you mean? You said the comms shorted out."

"No, Obi-Wan," The man negated softly, "I heard your fear, your pleas for my safety. I called to you through the Force, to stop you from worrying." He straightened the thin braid, "I told you I was coming."

Obi-Wan's brow crinkled, as his heart contracted with the memory. "I…I heard you." He said, with confused amazement. "How did I…I thought it was my imagination."

Qui-Gon shook his head. "Your thoughts pushed into mine, Obi-Wan. In the middle of nowhere, I heard your voice. Our bond, Obi-Wan. It became more today." His smile was reflected in his eyes, "It reached a point not all partnerships can. It takes a special connection."

"Oh," Obi-Wan replied, within a sort of daze. The revelation clashed with everything established in his head, although it melded with all that had been wanted in his heart. He shed the reason of both, to live in the moment, as his Master was always encouraging him to do.

_/I'm glad we have it, Master. Even if it was passing._/

Qui-Gon stroked his chin. _/I predict it won't be, my Padawan. It can be a salvation. You must remember that, Obi-Wan./_

Obi-Wan closed his eyes once more, and breathed. A salvation, his Master had said. He thought the same. Already, it had been the light kindled through the worst darkness.

**O**

That was inspired by two bunnies on a twenty-five point list by **dianethx**. One was 'Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon's first mindspeech', and the other was 'Obi-Wan is afraid of the dark'. More soon! Like I said, there were twenty-five from her alone.


	2. It's the Thought that Counts

**It's the Thought that Counts**

G

(Disclaimer) Nothing belongs to me. This was again inspired by a bunny from **dianethx**.

_No matter what anyone says, Obi-Wan can't cook_.

**O**

As the ship groaned softly to the platform, Qui-Gon felt a sigh fall from his lips. _At last._

The ramp lowered, and he called upon his deepest reserve of control to keep from dashing down it. The mission was done, and after a long shower and steaming mug of freshly brewed tea, he could shed the lingering grime from both skin and memory.

He strode through the Temple, inhaling familiarity and anticipating the completion of his relief. For though the silvery haven of the Jedi was a comfort, it wasn't home. Up the lift and down the corridor, he came to the apartment he shared with his student.

The Master rolled his shoulders, but most of the tension bound in the muscles remained. His mouth stretched in a yawn as he palmed open the door. His mind had already begun to warm to the image of his bed. A good, dreamless sleep was definitely in order.

His return had occurred under the star-dusted sky, so he had not expected Obi-Wan to be standing at the hangar. Indeed, the boy had not been there, a fact that both pleased Qui-Gon, and left him a little heartsick. Obi-Wan needed his rest, of course—but after a strenuous separation from the Padawan, Qui-Gon found he needed to see the youthful face, to meet the bright cerulean eyes with his own.

These wishes were bestowed as he walked into the common room of the apartment. Obi-Wan was wide-awake, fully dressed, and smiling. "Welcome back, Master," He gave a small bow.

"Thank you, Padawan," Qui-Gon replied, eying his companion with more than a little curiosity. The space was well lit and suspiciously tidy. "If you _are _my Padawan, that is."

Obi-Wan chuckled. "I assure you, I am."

"Hm." Qui-Gon lifted an eyebrow as he scanned the room again. "Then shouldn't this place be one step away from being declared a disaster area? There isn't even anything on the floor. I hardly recognize it."

"I cleaned it, Master."

Qui-Gon feigned a shock-induced chest pain, clutching his hand to his tunic. "What? I thought you said you were allergic to such a thing."

Obi-Wan helped him out of his cloak, then folded it neatly on the back of the sofa. "Well, perhaps I've been cured."

The man sat in his armchair and exhaled heavily. "Miracles never cease." He tipped back his head and closed his eyes, allowing his bones to sink into the cushion.

"Master, you're going to sit there?"

He peeled back one eyelid, to regard the still-attentive form of his Padawan. "It seems that way, yes. Why?"

"Oh, it's nothing." Obi-Wan waved his hand in dismissal of the subject, though his tone betrayed him.

Qui-Gon straightened. The boy was officially acting odd now. "I don't think it's nothing. Now what—" He was paused by the wafting of an aroma, one he had not noticed in the first moments. It was faint, but quickly evolved into a very sharp pungency. If hell had a smell… _Oh gods. He's kept some pet and now it's dead. _He swallowed, "Now what is it, Obi-Wan? And while you're answering that, also inform me what that odor is."

Surprisingly, Obi-Wan's face split in a brilliant grin. "Come into the kitchen and I'll show you."

Qui-Gon stood, deciding that there were no animal corpses in the apartment. His Padawan wasn't that macabre. Still, the boy appeared too excited about the source of the revolting scent.

He followed Obi-Wan into the small adjoining room, where the hell-stench gleaned significant power. He could actually see it now, floating up from various dishes that were set out on the table. The utensils were half-wrapped in cloth napkins. In the midst of the setting was a vase containing three white flowers.

Qui-Gon smiled at his apprentice. "You've been busy, haven't you, Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan nodded, now fairly brimming with pride. "Sit down, Master."

Qui-Gon did, at his usual place. An empty plate and glass were before him.

"Now, what would you like?"

Truth be told, none of the items from the chosen menu looked appetizing in the least. There was a bowl of curdled green…something, and a ballooned clot of blackened…substance. There was also a pitcher of iced tea, a large portion of it being the sentiment layering the bottom.

Qui-Gon gathered a breath. "A little of everything, please." _'Little' being the operative word._

"Alright." Obi-Wan replied in a near singsong. He dipped a large spoon into the dark, bloated dish, revealing the pink innards as he slopped it down onto Qui-Gon's plate. He added a healthy portion of the green sludge, and poured a towering glass of clouded tea.

"There you go, Master."

Qui-Gon studied the food with hidden fear. _I thought last meals were supposed to decadent—or edible. _He corrected himself swiftly. Obi-Wan had obviously thrown his heart into preparing the dinner for him; he would eat every bite. "Padawan, you didn't need to go to all this trouble."

"It wasn't any trouble. And besides, you're worth it."

Qui-Gon would have cringed, if it would have gone unseen. _Force. Well, there's certainly no getting out of it now. _He picked up a fork, and speared it through the black-and-pink concoction. He refused to believe it had made a lurching sound as he dug into it.

All the while, Obi-Wan was watching in excited suspense.

Qui-Gon was only too aware of that, and so popped the fork in his mouth with enthusiasm. Immediately, he regretted it. More than that, he regretted returning from the mission, taking Obi-Wan as his Padawanbeing born. What was in his mouth? The scrapings from the bottom of a well-worn shoe? Sewer contents?

No, as he did his best to chew it, he ascertained that it was some kind of meat. Burnt to a hardened shell on the outside, raw and almost cold on the inside. _Maybe he DID have a pet…and this is it. _He quelled his gag reflex in order to gulp it down.

Hesitantly, he looked at Obi-Wan, who was rocking back and forth on his heels, hands behind his back.

"Well? What d'you think?"

_There aren't words. _"It's—" He had to swallow a second-coming, "It's wonderful, Padawan."

Obi-Wan sighed in happy relief. "Oh good. I was afraid you weren't going to like it."

"Of course I like it," Qui-Gon reached out and touched the dimpled chin briefly, "You made it."

Obi-Wan smiled, and Qui-Gon knew that anything was worth doing, if it would light that face in its unique luminescence. _Even dying of food poisoning. _

"Master?"

"Yes?"

"Aren't you going to eat anymore?"

"Oh. Oh—oh yes." He gripped his fork again, then glanced at the boy. "Have you eaten?"

"Yes."

_And you're still standing? _Reciting an ancient prayer, Qui-Gon tried the congealing greenness. Immediately, he clamped his eyes shut. _Oh sweet Force, take me now._

**O**

When his plate was clean of every awful morsel, Qui-Gon folded his napkin on top of it and sat back.

"How did you like everything, Master?"

_Fetch me my will. You're out. _He smiled, forcing down a sour belch. "It was lovely, Padawan. May I ask where you learned to cook like that?" _Because it certainly wasn't from _me

"I didn't learn from anywhere. I don't really know what I made. I saw it in a cookbook. It had all these expensive-looking dishes, so I just copied them. I know how you like stuff like that, but I didn't have many credits to work with."

_Merciful Force. It's hard to hate someone who acts so damned sweet!_

"And I couldn't judge the taste of it, either, since my palate isn't as refined as yours. I knew you'd know if it was good or not."

Qui-Gon fought the nausea firmly. "It was good, Padawan. Very good." He began to stand, "Now, I think sleep is well-past due for us both."

"But wait, Master!"

"What?"

"I made dessert!"

**O**


	3. Strangers & Family

**Strangers & Family**

PG

(Disclaimer) Nothing belongs to me.

_Obi-Wan becomes disconcerted by a normal Jedi practice. Another from **dianethx**'s lifesaving list: collecting babies for the Jedi. _

**O**

She was still crying.

They had been walking for awhile, and the small cottage was lost in the distance, behind the miles of dirt road and layers of leaves, but the sobs still tore from her as intensely as they had in the first moments. Obi-Wan glanced at the infant, who slept in the arms of Qui-Gon Jinn, and thought of the mother. In truth, he couldn't know for certain if the tears still flooded her paled face, he only knew that the memory of her sorrow throbbed in his eardrums. The strength had drained from the woman, and the youth and vitality had been gutted from her spirit, as she handed her only child to the Jedi representatives.

A content little sigh slipped from the baby's slack lips. Obi-Wan looked at him again, swathed in a hand-woven quilt and clothes, all made from soft, pastel fabric.

The Temple children wore identical uniforms, versions of the standard, earth-toned garb of the Order, crafted by nameless tailors somewhere in the vast Coruscant cityscape. Obi-Wan couldn't remember wearing much else during the twenty-two years of his life.

He studied the elfin face, and could already see the progression, the steps from crècheling to initiate, Padawan to Knight, and then, Master. Scenes of hardship and victory slowly composed, for today the woman had handed them the brush.

It had been a crushing decision for her to make.

The desolation was already carved into her features as she stood at the door, a hand curved along the edge. Her dark hair was piled carelessly in a tie, her nightclothes rumpled and feet bare.

_Qui-Gon stood tall, but not imposing, and offered her a small smile before bending in a customary bow. Obi-Wan emulated the man, though he could not dredge up that same, comforting play of his mouth._

"_Gil'an Yeria?"_

_The gleam in her ebony gaze was hard—hesitant. She nodded, her eyes shifting from older to younger man. Her mouth worked to form the words. "You're…you're the Jedi?"_

"_Yes. I am Qui-Gon Jinn," He rested a hand on his companion's shoulder, " and this is my apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi."_

_The morning light traced gentle tinges around her visage, and she was smoothed of the distressed lines, looking more like a vulnerable teenager. "I…" She wiped at her cheek, "I didn't think you'd be here so soon."_

_From her demeanor, Obi-Wan wondered if maybe she had deluded herself into thinking they would never arrive. _

"_I'm sorry, Miss Yeria. Did you need a bit more time?" Qui-Gon asked her._

_She paused, considering, then sealed her eyes and shook her head. "No. No. I can't. I have to do it now or I might not be able to do it at all."_

"_Of course," The Master replied in a kind, understated voice._

_Gil'an stood there a few seconds, as though she had become a protective wall between her child and those that wished to take him from her. Then, the skin at her brow strained, and she bit down on a frown. "Come in."_

_They followed her inside the humble room, which consisted of a sofa, armchair, and, most noticeably, a crib. She went there immediately, reaching down to whisper an endearment to the baby inside._

_When she turned to them again, her smile was pained. "I, um, made some tea. I'll go get it."_

_They were left alone to survey the space. It was lit by warm amber glow, radiating from a single fixture. Toys were scattered across the floor. Qui-Gon sighed. "It never gets easer," He murmured._

_Obi-Wan nodded. Admittedly, he hadn't the extensive experience when dealing with this situation, he was only a Padawan, but every excursion to retrieve a potential member was soul wrenching. It didn't take long to become weathered, in that respect. Every Jedi was required to do it. There was no way out of it. For each new child in the Temple, there was a Knight or Master who brought them there, and so there were faces etched into the memory of that Knight or Master, of the people left behind. So many people…shattered. _

For the greater good, _Obi-Wan recited to himself, as the trembling mother reentered the room, _It's for the greater good.

_"Please, have a seat." Gil'an told them softly, carrying two mismatched mugs and a tall glass. She handed them the mugs, which they accepted with voiced gratitude. Then she rested on the chair near the crib. Her teeth clamped on the corner of her lip, and she swallowed. "Okay. How are you…how are we…what's going to happen here?" She looked hopelessly distraught, her eyes bruising as they strayed again to the baby._

_Qui-Gon carried the conversation forward with his usual grace. "We must test his blood to ascertain his level of midichlorians. Midichlorians are life forms that exist within every creature, Jedi or otherwise. But a higher concentration of them is what allows Jedi to touch the Force."_

_She nodded. "And what if…what if there is a high concentration?"_

_"Then it would become your choice, whether or not he would be admitted into the care and permanent guardianship of the Jedi Order."_

_A thicker swallow slid down the column of her throat._

_'Permanent'. In his few times witnessing this process, Obi-Wan noticed that it was that single word that dug further, that brought the first shard of a tear, that measured the strength of the parent._

_She was strong, and she nodded. "Alright."_

_A new tension strung between them as Qui-Gon moved to the crib, and delicately extracted the sample needed._

_For his part, the tiny child was silent and shiny-eyed. The infants in the crèche were the same—calm, encompassed and comforted by the Force. It was as if they knew the road ahead would not allow the perceived weakness of tears._

_Gil'an watched with fervent focus, her fingers gripping the sweating glass hard._

_Then Qui-Gon stepped back, inserting the strip into his commlink. "I need to transfer this to the Temple lab for analysis. Excuse me."_

_And then Obi-Wan was with her. She alternated her gaze between her offspring and the Padawan. He had never felt like more of an enemy to anyone. The silence pressed them in, until he thought he would explode, until the walls themselves burst. His mind demanded speech, but his mouth was unwilling._

_"You're his apprentice?" She asked._

_Obi-Wan was startled by the inquiry, merely because he had already believed that dead quiet had become eternal. "Yes."_

_Gil'an studied him, with those critical, aching eyes. "Do all Jedi become apprentices?"_

_A difficult question to answer, considering the entanglements of his own childhood. But for such things, there were responses ready-made by the Jedi. "Most do, yes."_

_"And the others?"_

_They feel like nothing inside until someone rescues them. If someone does. "They enter into alternative programs. Piloting, the healing arts, agriculture."_

_She nodded, boring into his eyes with hers, trying to strip away the niceties, the proper Jedi façade he had to don. "Are you happy?"_

_"Yes," Obi-Wan replied, without a thought. "As a Jedi, I am fulfilled. I will always have a purpose among them."_

_"What is your purpose?"_

_It unnerved him a little, the demands of her interrogation, concerning the heavy topics of happiness and purpose. "My purpose is to help others, to relieve suffering where I see it, to stop those who would cause suffering. Within the mandates of the Council and the Republic."_

_"Peacekeepers," She murmured, "And is any part of your life your own? Or is everything devoted to the Order?"_

_"A Jedi's life is centered around the Force, not specifically the Order. In the Temple, one learns not only how to wield the Force, but to listen to it, to understand its will."_

_"Do you have any friends?"_

_"Of course. I have close friends, both Jedi and non. We're not isolated, I assure you."_

_"And your Master, is he your friend?"_

_"He's my best friend." Obi-Wan said with pure conviction._

_"That's nice," Gil'an smiled. "Really, you seem very nice. Both of you. It's just…" She shook her head, "I know it would be best for him. I know the Jedi can provide a much better life than I can here, on my own. But there's more than the material things. I don't want him to miss out on having a family. That kind of loss—it would be inconsolable."_

_"I understand. But if I may say, as a Jedi, I do have family. Not through blood, but through the bond all members of the Order have with one another. It's akin to an enormous extended family. And Master Qui-Gon is my immediate family," A warmth stirred in him; he never spoke of what had existed so long within his heart, especially to a stranger. He wondered if his Master could hear him…but Gil'an deserved the truth, the whole truth, of what it was to be a Jedi. "He's been my father," He told her, quietly._

_From her expression, Obi-Wan could see she had not been expecting that. "I'm so glad." Her smile widened, "I'm so glad to hear that. The Jedi have a reputation of being, well…unfeeling."_

_"Jedi feel as much as anyone else."_

_She leaned her chin against a slightly shaking finger. "Does your Master feel the way you do?_

_Obi-Wan hesitated. He had asked himself the same question for nine years, and always, there was conflicting evidence. Most of the time, he existed in a place beyond arm's length of his teacher. There were barricades nothing could overcome, even the trials and torment that uniquely linked them together. But just as there were moments when the distance was huge and painful, there were glimmers of real closeness. Shared laughter, a conversation in the middle of the night, a rare declaration of pride or soft parting word. "I don't presume to know his feelings. I only know my own."_

_"Fair enough," Gil'an said, just as Qu-Gon rejoined them. Then, she fell silent, going to the crib and taking the baby into her arms. She clasped her palm over his small head, tucking him close against her._

_Obi-Wan's heart was racing._

_"The report from the lab indicates that your son has a midichlorian count well within range for Temple admittance." Qui-Gon told her._

_And then she began to cry._

_Obi-Wan's mind went to his own mother, and if she had feared his heart would be neglected among the Jedi. Had she been so utterly devastated when his Force sensitivity was discovered?_

_Qui-Gon moved from her, giving her the distance needed to choose what would occur next. He sat down beside Obi-Wan and, perhaps sensing his unease, rested his hand on the apprentice's back. Obi-Wan turned to him, looking into ever-tranquil eyes of blue midnight. The elder Jedi said nothing, but sent a tendril of reassurance through the Force._

_Sometime later, breaths hitching, Gil'an stood from the armchair, planting kisses on the wispy crown of the child's head._

_The Jedi stood in unison._

_Gil'an sniffed and shook her head. "I didn't get dressed this morning because I didn't want it to be real." She glanced at Obi-Wan, "I didn't hold him when we talked because I didn't want to think it was happening. That I'd have to hold on so I could let go." The woman gulped a sob, "I don't want him to go._

_"But I have to do what's right. He was given this opportunity for a reason. He's…he's special."_

_"Yes, he is." Qui-Gon agreed gently._

_She hugged the baby close, and pressed a lingering kiss on his forehead. The tears were endless rivers now, descending her flushed cheeks. She closed her eyes. "Take him. Take him now."_

_Qui-Gon did, cradling the small form in his arms, turning to face Obi-Wan. "Wait outside for me, Padawan."_

_"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan obeyed quietly, and accepted the bundle. He tried not to hear the whimpering as he left the cottage._

_He stood in the golden brace of morning, gazing down at the new life—and possibly, new Jedi. The eyes were deeply black, like Gil'an's, and looked up at him with bright curiosity. Obi-Wan smiled, deciding it quite ridiculous that in this emotional upheaval, it was the infant who remained untouched by tears while he, Jedi and adult, battled a stinging deluge._

Maybe you'll save a thousand worlds, _Obi-Wan thought as he rocked the cooing babe. On this brilliant, dark day, he would not consider any other possibility._

_Eventually, his Master came through the door, the definition of serenity in his squared shoulders and unaffected features. If Gil'an's situation had reached him, there was no outward proof._

_They began to walk down the dirt path, one that had been carved and re-carved over the years. Neither said a word for a while, minds settling into the result of their mission._

_Obi-Wan attempted to redirect his focus to the landscape, to some tenet of the Code, anything other than the grinding heartbreak he had watched. Qui-Gon must have detected his mental discord, for he silently took the baby, and slowed just a little until his gait was identical to Obi-Wan's._

"You're still very young, Obi-Wan. It's harder, at your age, to handle this."

"I know, Master." He conceded, although he was almost certain his reaction would not change in the coming years. How could Gil'an release her only child into the care of strangers, with no guarantee of a safe or successful future for the boy? Obi-Wan blew out a breath. It felt like treason to even think that. The Jedi were home for him, for Force's sake. He was where he wanted to be…

But would he have wanted this as a child, when every turn promised a new experience—even joy? Would he, truthfully, have chosen this for himself?

"Securing the child took a bit longer than usual, after you left the cottage. Did you notice?" Qui-Gon asked.

It struck Obi-Wan as a strange point to bring up, but he nodded. "Yes, I suppose."

Qui-Gon sighed, a callused hand patting the baby's back, keen eyes gazing out at the horizon. "Gil'an wouldn't let me proceed with the paperwork until I answered her question concerning something."

Obi-Wan's brow flattened. "Concerning what?"

He glanced at his Padawan. "She wanted to know if I loved anyone."

"Oh." Obi-Wan wasn't quite brave enough to add anymore.

"I told her that love in of itself was wonderful, natural, and necessary to life. But that if it crossed over into attachment, it could lead to dangerous emotions. That love, if felt too strongly, could force one to compromise their duties as a Jedi."

Obi-Wan nodded. He looked down at his boots, watching their stride.

"And then I told her it was also possible to love someone who was wonderful, and natural and necessary to life, without the accompanying shadows. That you could love another as if they were your brother, or your son…and sacrifice very little in doing so." He studied Obi-Wan's face, "Do you think that was the right thing to tell her?"

Obi-Wan smiled, feeling rejuvenation replace the doubt, if only for the lovely moment stretching out. "I think it was, Master."

"Good," Qui-Gon murmured, "I was afraid it wasn't understood—before."

After they had returned to the ship and jumpstarted the trip back to Coruscant, Obi-Wan stood at the crib, fingers resting on the railing. The baby was sleeping peacefully atop his mother's blanket.

Qui-Gon was suddenly at his side, and Obi-Wan felt comfort in that, as though he could say anything and be met with comprehension. "Isn't it funny that after all this, we'll be the ones to remember her? He's much too small to retain any of the memories."

"Oh, don't be convinced of that, my Padawan. Early life is powerful in determining who we will become."

"Do you remember your parents?" Obi-Wan asked.

Qui-Gon's eyes took on a reflective cast. "A little, yes. Not very well."

"I don't remember them at all."

A hand lain on his shoulder. "I'm sure they remember you. You leave quite the impression, my Padawan."

"Do you think they were as sad as Gil'an was when I left?"

Qui-Gon considered the inquiry, then, "Anyone would be sad to lose a child, to sickness or to the Jedi. But they knew the right thing for you. I, for one, am supremely grateful for their decision."

They admired the slumbering innocence in companionable quiet. Then Obi-Wan glanced up at the familiar profile of his mentor, and said. "I think I was wrong." His smile was tentative, but heartfelt. "I remember one of them perfectly."

**O**


	4. Holes

**Holes **

PG

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. Idea courtesy of the lovely **shanobi**, who always offers up some of the best.

_On the transport home, Obi-Wan is plagued by the memory of his decisions on Melida/Dann._

**O**

There were places in the universe where shadows dwelled, where they prospered and could gut the very air. Nothing, not even the strongest, purest light, could withstand the pull of it, and the brilliance would sink to the core of the darkness. It was said that oblivion existed among the living, within those black holes.

If one had presented itself to Obi-Wan Kenobi at the current moment, he would have gladly given himself to it, and disappeared completely in the void. He _wanted _to disappear, to be gone—to have never existed. After the events had unfolded to their bitter conclusion, so richly painted in scarlet death, he had studied every minute detail, searching for the point when he had veered from the sacred course, and chose recklessness over steadiness, impulse over sense, strangers over his Master.

He was certain there was an instance of truth, when he stood perfectly balanced on the line, and toppled. He peered into the past, to those dust-washed, war-riddled days, looking for the mistake. But in the end, the same belief was always renewed: He should never have been born. _That _was the fatal flaw, and though it had been beyond his control, he felt the scorch of shame conflagrate his belly.

His musings stirred the space chill, and he burrowed deeper in his robe, crossing his arms and tucking his chin against his chest. He felt the familiar thrum of a warm, laboring engine beneath him. Those gentle vibrations soothed his body, easing strained muscles of flesh and thought. He decided to focus entirely on that. He wouldn't permit stray notions. He couldn't…for they had already threatened to consume him.

And he couldn't be overtaken. He had to retain a semblance of clarity and composure. Because, despite all that had happened, he still wanted to be a Jedi. He hated himself for that lingering, incurable, fierce desire; he was foolish to think he would be allowed in the Temple again, let alone welcomed back into the ranks he had so hastily shunned. But it would beat like a mad drummer's fevered cadence, as long as his heart did. He wanted to meld with the Force and serve its will—from the time of his unfortunate waking to the Universe, he was told his purpose, and it would be his purpose, the reason for breath, until he could no longer seep that breath into his lungs.

Obi-Wan knew that he would collapse to his knees and beg every last member of the High Council, of the Order itself, if it were the only way to regain what he lost---no, what he deserted. He'd stir Master Yoda's infamous stew, and let the odious steam waft up around his face, he'd take midnight duty at the crèche, he'd even polish Bruck Chun's boots.

A tear stung him, and he wiped it away quickly, fearing that more would come, born of those simple memories of home. _Force, I can't leave…Please…_

He was jolted by the rap at the door to his small transport quarters. Immediately he was scrubbing at his eyes, hoping they didn't harbor traces of his loss of control. "C-Come in."

Qui-Gon Jinn stood there in the doorframe, as noble a figure as Obi-Wan could imagine. His profile was strong; his eyes sharpened sapphire wisdom. He looked mystic, mythical, and it was during these glimpses that Obi-Wan would realize how unequal their partnership was, that in order to be at level with his (former?) apprentice, Qui-Gon had to drop from his rightful place, down to the murk where Obi-Wan was. And now…now that Obi-Wan was clumsy, incapable _and _a betrayer, it seemed unlikely that Qui-Gon would tolerate falling any further, no matter how compassionate and selfless the man was.

_This is it, _Obi-Wan thought, staring with aching eyes at his mentor; _He's going to tell me. He's going to tell me it's over. _He wasn't surprised, of course. He'd been preparing for this since the day his braid had been woven. Still, his chest was full and tight, and his skin prickled. He didn't know what he would do without this guiding force of his life, but he knew he deserved to find out.

The man was walking over to him, and Obi-Wan had the abrupt thought that he was on the floor, huddled like a sniveling child. But his limbs were locked, and he was motionless as his teacher approached. Perhaps this was the viewpoint of a tiny, grasping insect, seconds before the foot descended.

Qui-Gon stopped a few feet away. Since their reunion on Melida/Daan, the tension between them had been unbearable, but it strung them together, creating a strange, unsettled roiling in their connection. The mental bond itself was a withering wraith, blocked on both sides. The Master had barely spoken a word to his charge, and after their ship slipped into the obsidian waves and violet ribbons of hyperspace, there had been only silence and distance.

Obi-Wan, in a greedy little section of his soul, had hoped that maybe that would make it easier, once he was forced out of Qui-Gon's life. But it hurt just as badly.

"Are you hungry?"

The boy was startled by the question. Hungry? It was foreign to him, though his stomach had been uttering famished little cries for hours, and his head was throbbing. "No, I—" He swallowed, "I'm fine." His voice was a strangled thing, and when he spoke, he wasn't sure it was his, if his mouth had ever moved. "Thank you."

And then Qui-Gon was crouching down before him, and Obi-Wan saw that graceful visage, and could see nothing else. He saw the creases deepening, the lines knotting. Above all, he saw the pain in those beloved eyes, the pain of treachery, needless pain…pain Obi-Wan had caused.

He gulped down the thickness rising in his throat, and chanced meeting that gaze.

"You should eat something, Obi-Wan."

But the imploration left him cold. He had become accustomed to a different title that chased the ends of his Master's sentences. He was used to being 'Padawan'. He didn't want to be Obi-Wan, 'Obi-Wan' delivered in vapid inflection. 'Obi-Wan' was solitary and awkward. 'Padawan' was a link to Qui-Gon Jinn, and the Jedi, and everything good that Obi-Wan couldn't be on his own.

Obi-Wan, not Padawan. It would never be Padawan again.

It struck him as incredibly selfish, that he should be worried about anything concerning himself, while Melida/Daan was in ceaseless turmoil, and Cerasi's sweet voice had been forever silenced, while his Master was here, the anguish bright in his kind eyes.

"Here."

Obi-Wan blinked, and a large roll was being handed to him, glistening with butter. He looked from it to Qui-Gon, then down again. He realized there was a metal tray on the floor, on which sat a plate of fruit, rolls, and ice water. His insides lurched, in wanting and in revolt.

"Obi-Wan, you're going to make yourself sick."

There was an edge of rebuke in the man's tone, and Obi-Wan accepted the hot bread, if only to prevent another taxing dispute for his Master. He ate, and gradually, the food warmed him, and he ate more, thinking it would satisfy the maw inside him. He took bites of roll and fruit, stopping for long swallows of the chilled water, waiting for the holes to brim up and close.

But when mere crumbs remained, he was empty still.

For a moment, the frustration outweighed everything, and he might have been panting. Something gripped hard onto his shoulders, hard enough to drag him from the frenzy. Qui-Gon's arms were outstretched, his large hands clamped down on Obi-Wan, as though keeping him in place, as if he would obliterate otherwise.

"_Stop _it," Qui-Gon said, with clipped conciseness, standing and taking Obi-Wan's hands, to bring him up off the ground.

Obi-Wan followed, because he couldn't fight it, too weak and beyond caring about himself. He watched with dull interest as Qui-Gon turned down a side of the bed, the food he had desperately devoured already heavy and sour in the pit of his gut.

"Get in and get some sleep." The Master ordered him, waiting for him to obey, then pulled the blankets around Obi-Wan's shoulders.

Obi-Wan watched him leave, and felt his head spin. The minutes had been a whirlwind. Had the man ever really been here, or was it a delusion, brought on by the trauma of the recent events?

He would have believed it a fantasy, and that it hadn't been Qui-Gon who coaxed him into nourishment, and the comfort of the bed…he would have believed it a ruse, if not for the ruination of that valiant spirit, bleeding through eyes of fading blue, and the loss of the smirking smile.

Not even the fertile morbidity of his imagination could rival the biting spark of reality, in that respect. Qui-Gon Jinn was heartbroken.

And he, Obi-Wan, had become the black hole, in which was swept away tender luminescence. He had stolen his Master's light.

Sleep did come for him, the result of enormous exhaustion, from the toll taken by wracking, silent sobs.

**O**


	5. The Looming Threshold

Thank you for reading, **InsaneJediGirl.** Doesn't seem like too many others are. 

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**The Looming Threshold**

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. Theme taken from a bunny by **dianethx**.

_The first time Qui-Gon hints that Obi-Wan is ready for the next stage of his Jedi career—and Obi-Wan doesn't quite get the hint. _

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The stream rippled, soft azure reflective of a brilliant sky, waves faceted by the purity of afternoon light. His feet were smeared beneath the water, and he kicked them gently, to watch the shimmering stir. Then Obi-Wan leaned back on his elbows, and his eyes fluttered shut against the glowing press of heat.

"Padawan, it'll have dried out to dust by the time you decide to get in." Qui-Gon predicted. He stood with the cool flow around his shoulders, and silvered chestnut mane untied and wet up to his neck.

Obi-Wan smiled. "Well at least it won't be cold then."

The corner of Qui-Gon's mouth was pulled into a smirk. On this rare day of freedom during an assignment, they had decided to explore the local nature, trekking through paths that cut across the heavy forest, and breathing air untainted by city congestion. As the day climbed toward its peak, the Master had stopped at the calm river, and, after shedding his cumbersome robe and tunics, leapt in.

But his apprentice approached more slowly. He slid out of his cloak and rolled up his leggings, to submerge himself calf-deep. The goading had begun immediately, yet Obi-Wan was content to allow his body to grow accustomed to the temperature.

"You seem especially hesitant, Obi-Wan. You don't know something I don't, do you?" The older Jedi crooked an eyebrow, bobbing slightly in the jeweled waters. "Flesh-eaters aren't indigenous to this area, are they?"

Obi-Wan shrugged. "Perhaps you should have read the planet overview with a more attentive eye." He suggested, a mischievous twinkle present in his own gaze.

"Hm. After twelve years, I thought some of that childhood cheekiness would've abated."

Obi-Wan merely smiled again, and watched the stream separate and quiver as his legs swept through.

And Qui-Gon watched him watch, his mind settled by the warm breeze and clear sky. But, at the same time, he was swarmed with thought, and found that much of his contentment had been compromised. The respite from duty had been sorely needed, for their latest mission was illuminating too much of what he didn't want to see, and he had to break away, to be away from everything that reminded him of time's cruel persistence. His apprentice's skills had evolved in saber and mediation, the blade a natural outcropping of his body, his words fluid and peaceful in moments of upheaval. Less and less, Qui-Gon was the protective wall between Obi-Wan and peril.

The Padawan would become a Knight, far sooner than Qui-Gon had dreamt. The braid, a twining of fibers and spirits, would be shorn.

It was enough to sharpen a pain in his chest, and cause him to desire to reach for those long, plaited strands, and savor the precious days so quickly passing. He couldn't cement Obi-Wan in the customary place of an apprentice, at the side of his Master. He was one man, and couldn't combat the natural way of things. For centuries upon centuries, Padawans had moved on to Knighthood. And for far longer than even that, children had grown and left their parents.

But most parents don't have to send their grown children into constant hostility and violence.

Something in him quivered, and he shook his head, swallowing thickly. When he returned to the present, Obi-Wan was looking at him, head canted to the side.

"Master?" There was a minute tinge of worry coloring the dulcet.

Qui-Gon blew out a breath and smiled. "I'm fine, Obi-Wan."

Eyes of warring cerulean and jade regarded him with lingering concern. "I thought I might've sensed…discord. About the mission?"

"Oh no, Padawan. Nothing like that." The man studied his companion with a strange, faint half-smile, then added, "You always seem to sense more."

Obi-Wan's forehead creased at the observation, and suddenly he appeared uncomfortable, turning his attention to a bird cleansing its wings a few feet away.

The focus of the Jedi Master stayed with his student. Obi-Wan had never handled compliments well. While others absorbed and basked in new pride, Obi-Wan gleaned unease from it. Qui-Gon wondered if that portion of his personality had always existed, or if it was a trait learned during the often-tumultuous apprenticeship. He didn't want to consider the possibility that he was responsible for the pulses of uncertainty that threaded through Obi-Wan's heart. Especially since no one had as much faith in the young man as Qui-Gon Jinn did. "Your work during this assignment has been exemplary."

Obi-Wan's eyes flickered from the bathing creature to the bearded face of his mentor. "Thank you, Master." He said quietly, after a moment.

"You're quite welcome," Qui-Gon murmured. With a few sweeping strokes, he had crossed over to his apprentice. He lifted himself from the tepid water to the edge of warm earth. He sat there, beside Obi-Wan, his feet lost beneath the waves.

The young countenance was in profile, outline blazed by the prominent sun. Qui-Gon's breath was stolen in the grasp of that delicate strength and he extended a finger, to wipe a stray droplet from the cheek. But the action only left more beads rolling down; his finger had been damp from the swim. "With every task, you improve enormously. It's amazing to watch."

The surprise seized Obi-Wan first, then, once more, "Thank you, Master."

The words were birthed from numb lips, and Obi-Wan was glad to gaze out at the forest, instead of at Qui-Gon. All that his Master was saying…of course, it was what he wanted to hear, down at his core. But as the sentiments were spoken, Obi-Wan's first instinct was to deflect them, to push them away as he would eye-stinging debris. Eventually, he would accept them, and go to them in the lonely intervals, but not now. Now, he was discomfited—embarrassed. He flexed his toes, and tried to close his mind.

"Obi-Wan?"

He looked at his Master.

"Do you think it's truly been twelve years?" The man asked him.

Obi-Wan smiled. "No." In truth, it felt like those years had comprised his entire life. His early childhood had been another existence for him, without the comfort of his Master's guidance. "It seems longer."

Qui-Gon chuckled. "Longer? Hm…I'm not quite sure how to perceive that."

"Perceive it as this, Master: I can't imagine life without you." Obi-Wan said, with an inherent shyness. But undeniable truth rang in the words.

Qui-Gon's heart clenched, for he _could_ imagine life without his apprentice…after all, he had lived it. Apprentices came, taking up residence in the hearts of their Masters, creating unique bonds and powerful friendships.

And then they left, to Knighthood, or something more sinister. Either way, they always left.

He looked at Obi-Wan now, young face composed in the gentle palette of bright day. He looked at the person who possessed his whole heart, and hated what he had to say. "I can't stay with you forever, Padawan." He lightly pinched the dimpled chin and smiled, "The rest of the Universe would resent me for keeping you all to myself."

Obi-Wan stared up at him. "I don't care about the rest of the Universe."

"You should. You have a lot to offer it."

There was a speculative glistening in the cerulean gaze before a smile turned it to glitter. "Don't be so sure, Master."

"But I _am_ sure, Obi-Wan. You surpass every expectation. You…" Qui-Gon stopped then, seeing, really seeing, the dread lurking behind youthful features. Obi-Wan wasn't ready for this kind of talk. Neither of them were. "…Look like you're sweltering." He finished, and nudged his head toward the calmed waters, "Why don't you join me this time?"

Obi-Wan's focus flickered from the stream to his Master's face. "Only if you go first. Then I'll follow you."

Qui-Gon felt it as they both settled into the warmth of the normal ways, the routines and traditions. Home, for a short time longer. But then, a flash of mischief streaked across his mind, and with a devilish grin, he pushed his unaware apprentice.

Obi-Wan splashed down with a yelp. For a moment, he disappeared beneath the mad rippling and bubble froth. Then, his head darted up, breaking through the surface. From behind a drenched curtain of auburn, he glared at his hysterical mentor, who had collapsed in laughter. "Prepare to be one with your beloved Force, old man."

Qui-Gon sobered only slightly, wiping at his eyes. "I'm afraid I can't do that yet. Who'd take care of you?"

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End file.
